


Happy Binky, the big-ass bunny

by Bergen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Injured Peter Parker, Injury Recovery, Just Peter Parker being a teenager, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Natasha Romanov, Teen Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart, no character bashing I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bergen/pseuds/Bergen
Summary: Even Spider-Man had his limits. One of those limits was a fall from over a hundred feet, that left him with a cracked skull, a broken spine and a severely crushed left leg. Spider-Man is recovering and out of the running. But he gets no rest. Because now, Peter Parker is facing his greatest threat so far: his aunt’s new boyfriend, Happy. And everyone says Happy is a good guy. Happyisa good guy.So Peter isn’t sure why the whole thing makes him feel on edge.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 282
Collections: god tier spider-man fics





	Happy Binky, the big-ass bunny

Peter didn’t follow the news anymore.

It had become nothing more than a painful reminder of his current shortcomings. He knew that was irrational – he was still recovering after all. So maybe it was just out of self-protection more than anything else.

He had survived a plane crash and a building collapsing on top of him. But apparently, even Spider-Man had his limits. And one of those limits was a fall from over a hundred feet, that had left him with a cracked skull, a broken spine and a severely crushed left leg. Even his super-speedy spider healing couldn’t fix _that_ overnight. For the first time in his life, he had been bedridden for almost a week, unable to even go to the bathroom unassisted.

The recovery was faster than it would have been for most people, but still far too slow to his liking. The leg in particular kept bothering him. Peter still had to walk around with a crutch, feeling nowhere near as graceful as Spider-Man ought to.

But his super-hearing was still very much intact.

So when he came home one afternoon, seeing a wide-eyed May stumbling into the hallway in her bathrobe, while distinctly hearing another heartbeat coming from her bedroom, his first instinct was to assume there was an intruder in the house.

Until he saw the somewhat guilty, somewhat embarrassed expression on May’s face. “Hey, honey, I didn’t think you’d be home already,” she said, a little out of breath.

“No decathlon practice,” Peter said, leaning heavily on his crutch and bracing himself against the wall with his free hand. “But I’ll just go over to Ned’s place, shall I?” He didn’t even pretend to be unaware of what was going on.

May huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be silly, you shouldn’t be walking around too much – just let me…” She vaguely waved a hand and then disappeared back into her bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Peter carefully made his way to the living room and sank down on the couch, stretching out his left leg with a soft groan. He tried to tune out the whispered discussion going on behind the bedroom door.

Well. This was awkward.

When he had pictured a moment like this in his head, it had always been May walking in on him and MJ making out, not the other way around. He knew his aunt wasn’t the type for a one night stand, so this relationship had likely been going on for a while. It was strange to think that she hadn’t included him in it. But either way, he was going to be mature about this.

The bedroom door opened again and May stepped out, wearing jeans and a shirt and only one sock. And sheepishly following in her wake - -

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Language, Peter!” May admonished, though not with nearly the usual level of fierceness. She still looked flustered.

Happy just looked mortified, lingering half-behind May and pointedly looking away from Peter. He had haphazardly put his suit back on, had even tried to put on his damn tie as if he would be fooling anyone that way. 

May straightened out a wrinkle in his shirt before seating herself on the couch next to Peter. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, that was never our intention.”

Peter gripped his crutch tighter and frowned at the carpet, unsure how he was supposed to feel. Because yeah, it was a bit of a shock, but apart from that, did he have a reason to be angry? It felt like he should, but he couldn’t think of one.

“Happy and I have been… _involved_ for about a month now. And we just wanted so see where things would go before we told anyone.”

Peter merely nodded.

“So, are you… How do you feel about this?”

“I don’t know. It’s weird. But, uh, I guess it’s okay.”

May smiled and squeezed his arm. Happy looked relieved as hell. He had probably expected Peter to start ranting like some dumb teenager. Peter was a teenager, of course, but he _wasn’t_ dumb, as much as Happy probably thought otherwise.

“Can you keep this on the down low for us, then?” May asked.

Peter nodded, before stretching and yawning, making sure to seem utterly relaxed. “Okay, so what do we do for dinner? Shall I order something?”

“That sounds good, thank you honey,” May murmured, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek and then shuffling back to her bedroom, probably to find her other sock.

Peter pushed himself up to find the Chinese menus.

Happy was left standing in the middle of the room. He still looked baffled.

 _Ha_. Showed him.

Peter glanced through the menu. “Do you like Kung Pao Chicken?”

“Sure,” Happy said behind him, and Peter heard a scraping sound as Happy pulled out a chair to sit down.

Peter took out his phone to place the order, and quickly sent a message to Ned and MJ while he was at it. Because, sure, he could keep things on the down low with the Avengers, but he _definitely_ needed to know what his friends had to say about this latest development.

He then turned around to find Happy still staring at him.

“So, um, how are you. Are you okay?” Happy asked, his eyes flitting down to Peter’s leg.

Everyone constantly asked Peter if he was okay, physically. If the leg was bothering him, if his fingertips were numb, if his toes were tingling. No one ever asked him about his mental state. If he was terrified about the possibility that he might not fully recover. If he was afraid that he would never be able to return as Queen’s own Spider-Man.

Not that he _was_.

“I’m fine.”

May returned to the living room, fully socked, and sat down next to Happy. She seemed to have found the humor in the situation, smiling as she caught Happy’s eye. She giggled. And then Happy giggled, too.

Ugh. Grown-ups.

Since they only had two dining room chairs, they ate Chinese food on the couch. Peter hid his phone between his leg and the armrest, and discreetly sent replies to MJ and Ned’s appropriately hilarious comments.

Happy promised to make lasagna next time. _Next time_. Right. Being around Happy used to always make Peter feel anxious, intimidated, maybe even a little scared. Peter could still cringe when he thought about how eagerly he had showered Happy in voicemails and text messages when Tony first took him under his wing, always hoping for a reply. Kinda pathetic. Happy probably never read them, anyways. But now Happy was all ears as Peter talked about school, laughed when Peter made jokes, even gave Peter a rough pat on the back before he went home.

“See?” May asked. “Everything is fine, right? He’s nice.” She looked happy.

“Yeah,” Peter said, because Happy _was_ nice.

And so Peter wasn’t sure why the whole thing made him feel on edge.

**-**

“He’s _not_ dead!” Flash insisted, his eyes flashing angrily. “He fell like ten thousand feet, you dillweed. He’s just recovering, you heard Pepper Potts at the press conference!”

“Should I be concerned that a member of our Decathlon team is so hopelessly inept at estimating heights?” MJ asked as she sorted through her flashcards. “Ten thousand feet, really?”

“Why don’t you tell Abe to shut up, then?” Flash snapped.

“Just winding you up,” Abe said with a grin. “You’re too easy, Flash.”

“I don’t know,” Ned said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe he _is_ dead, and they’re just training a new Spider-Man to take his place.”

“Why don’t we ask Penis?” Flash sneered. “Since he and Spider-Man are such great pals. Is that why you’ve been walking around with a cane, Penis? Is it sympathy pains?”

“Flash, I talked to you about this,” MJ warned. “If you can’t treat your teammates with respect, you’re off the team. Now, let’s start. We’re taking turns.”

Peter was only half-listening anyways, leaning back in his chair and staring out the window. It was raining. So he should probably be glad that Happy would be picking him up after school to drive him to the tower. But he felt tense about seeing Happy again and he still didn’t really know why. Unfortunately, he could hardly skip his rehabilitation session. Especially since Natasha was the one taking him through the physical therapy. If he tried to get out of it, she would probably hunt him down and kidnap him. The first few weeks, it had been Natasha _and_ some expert guy that Tony had flown in from somewhere. But now that Peter was down to only two sessions a week, Tony had thankfully gotten rid of that guy. Peter didn’t like strangers poking at his leg and marveling at his quick recovery.

“Abe, what is the modern name of the element Stibnum?”

Peter had disappeared from school the day after Spider-Man’s accident, stayed away for two weeks, and returned with crutches, but his classmates _still_ hadn’t put two and two together. Which just went to show how much they didn’t suspect him. In part thanks to Pepper who had made up fake injuries for Spider-Man, which had been a smart move. A crushed arm and six broken ribs, she had told the press. So no one would expect Spider-Man to walk around the city with a limp.

“Ned, what is the most common isotope of hydrogen?”

When he had first woken up in the medic bay, he couldn’t move his legs at all. _That_ had been the moment he panicked, not the moment when he was hurtling towards the ground with no webfluid left and with Tony screaming over the comm. Peter had had surgery on the leg, while his muscles and tissue had already started to heal around the broken-off bone fragments. They had put some pins and screws in there to keep things in place. And he had had surgery on his back, where they put some kind of titanium rod along his spine to aid the healing process.

Tony and May had been right by his side when he woke up, and the other Avengers had left flowers around the bed, and piles of candy, and one enormous, _enormous_ stuffed bunny who, judging by the red glitter letters on his ears, was named ‘Happy Binky’. 

Peter preferred ‘Big-Ass Bunny’. The Bunny was the only thing he had kept. It was still sitting at the foot of this bed, taking up a lot of room. But it made him feel safer, somehow.

“Peter, which one is the odd one out: Tryptophan, Tyrosine, Adenine, Leucine?”

“Adenine, it’s not an amino acid,” he answered.

“Correct.”

Maybe if it stopped raining he could tell Happy that he would walk to the tower by himself.

-

It didn’t stop raining.

Peter forced himself to make small talk with Happy in the car, but it was difficult to come up with something to talk about. Or maybe it had simply always been difficult with Happy, and now it was just downright weird because Happy was trying so hard to be all buddy-buddy.

He was glad when he made it out of the car, into the Avenger’s personal gym, and onto the exercise mat.

“Flex your foot, toes towards the nose. Okay, now lean forward a little, hold for a count of three, two, one. Release.”

Natasha was sitting on the mat, facing Peter, her legs on either side of Peter’s and her hands wrapped around his left foot. “Did that hurt?”

“Not much.”

“Good, then we do it again. Flex.”

Natasha was always remarkable gentle with him, considering how scary she normally was. “You’re going back under the knife soon?” She asked.

“Two weeks,” Peter said. They were going to take out the titanium rod in his back because his spine had healed. “I wish the leg was moving along just as quickly.”

“The bone was crushed into splinters,” Natasha said. “Be glad that you’re already up and walking.”

Be glad. Right. Natasha probably thought he was a big fat idiot for not noticing in time that his webfluid was running low. She’d never make a mistake like that. But it wasn’t as if Peter had _expected_ to get caught up in an intergalactic war. He had just been doing his regular ol’ patrolling when the Avengers had simply shown up in his neighborhood, fighting a shitload of aliens. What was Peter supposed to do, sit back and watch?

“What?” Natasha asked.

Peter glanced up at her, smoothening out the wrinkles in his brow. “Nothing…?”

Natasha squinted at him and Peter looked away. He had overheard Natasha telling Tony that Peter was _too young_ plenty of times, the most recent time being when he was in the medic bay, recovering from his hundred foot fall, and Natasha had started a furious, whispered discussion with Tony in the hallway.

Before all this, whenever the Avengers doubted him, it would only make Peter feel more determined to prove them wrong. Now, it just made him feel embarrassed. Because he had failed to prove them wrong. If anything, his accident proved that he had been way out of his depth all along.

“Stop that,” Natasha said.

Peter looked up at her again. She was still squinting at him. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Negative thoughts are not conductive to your healing process. Now; flex.”

-

Well, Peter reasoned as he stared down at the carton of milk in his hands with a frown, even if the Avengers kicked him off the team after all this, they couldn’t stop him from being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It would suck if Tony took his suit, though. But Peter didn’t think he would. Tony was the only one who didn’t think he was too young for all this.

“Hey, kid, you gonna buy that or what?” asked a voice from right behind him.

“No, I think I’m gonna steal it,” Peter said.

Mr. Delmar gave him a playful whack on the head.

“You shouldn’t hit an invalid,” Peter said, with a nod at his crutch.

“You shouldn’t be doing the grocery shopping with a sprained ankle.”

“Yeah, well, my aunt’s new boyfriend likes his coffee with milk. And since I’m _super_ okay with them dating, I offered to get a carton.”

“Ah. Gonna empty it in the sink and re-fill it with expired milk?”

“What? No!”

“Put green food coloring in it?”

“Mr. Delmar!”

“There’s more where that came from,” Mr. Delmar said with a grin. “I’m an expert at getting rid of unwanted guest.”

“It’s not like that. He’s not… I’m okay with them dating, I _am_.”

“So he’s a good guy?”

Peter pressed his lips together, wondering why that question was so hard to answer. “Yeah,” he then said. “Of course.”

Mr. Delmar gave him an assessing look, then seemed to decide to change the subject. “How’s the leg, anyway?”

“Fine,” Peter murmured. Actually, it was hurting like hell right now, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Let me give you something,” Mr. Delmar offered as he turned towards the dairy products. “On the house.”

Peter blinked at the unusual offer. “What? No, I don’t really need-”

“Here, kiwi-lime cheesecake. That’s your favorite, right? Just a tiny one. I’m guessing, with your appetite, you can gobble it down all by yourself. Consider it a ‘get well soon’ cake. Actually this one says ‘happy birthday’, but hey, it’s not like there’s a law.”

-

Happy seemed to have the philosophy that most of life’s problems could be solved with lasagna. At least, that was the only reason Peter could come up with to explain why Happy insisted on making about the hundredth variety of that same dish today.

“Salmon and Spinach,” Happy said defensively when Peter pointed it out. “Last time was minced meat and eggplant. They’re _completely_ different.”

Peter felt awkward doing his homework at the dinner table while Happy was cooking. So he did his homework in his bedroom at the tiny, cramped desk in the corner. It made him angry at Happy for driving him out of his own living room.

He played some music to drown out the noises of cabinet doors opening and shutting, and plates clinking together. That way, he could pretend Happy wasn’t even here. A fantasy that was rudely undermined by Happy just barging into Peter’s room about twenty minutes later.

“Could you knock?” Peter asked, keeping his voice perfectly polite.

“Oh, sorry,” Happy said. “Just wanted to say – you know – I kept the table free for you if you want to do your homework.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Okay,” Happy said, with a doubtful look at the pile of books balancing on the tiny table in front of Peter. He then surveyed the rest of Peter’s room and his eye landed on ‘Happy Binky’, the big-ass bunny sitting on the foot of Peter’s bed. “Hey. You kept the bunny?”

There was something about his tone. Peter wasn’t sure what it was, but it made him feel all kinds of defensive. “What about it?”

Happy held up his hands. “Just didn’t expect that. Is the leg hurting?”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, a little snappier than he had intended.

“Do you want a drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

Happy gave up and returned to his lasagna.

Peter slowly turned in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he glanced at the big-ass bunny innocently smiling back at him from the bed. He didn’t want Happy to think of him as a dumb little kid who still slept with a stuffed animal.

Maybe he should get rid of it.

He was still contemplating this when his phone buzzed and a message came in from May.

_Running late at work. Will eat smth omw home. You and Happy have dinner together ok? X_

Well, that was just freaking perfect.

-

Making their way through dinner felt like wading through quicksand. Happy tried to keep the conversation going while Peter was having mood swings by the minute. One moment he firmly told himself to be polite and make some small-talk, and the next moment he felt annoyance flare up inside him and a tiny voice in his brain saying that Happy could just go fuck himself or at least someone other than his aunt.

After dinner, Peter packed the leftovers away. He opened the refrigerator door, his eye landing on the kiwi-lime cheesecake and then on the carton of milk, and he got that feeling in his stomach again.

He still didn’t understand what was wrong with him. Was it just that he didn’t want to share his aunt with someone else? That would be a little immature. Peter didn’t want to be immature, with all the effort he was going through to prove to the Avengers that he wasn’t _too young_ to be on the team.

He should probably offer an olive branch.

“I, um, got you a cake,” he said, taking the box from the fridge and setting it down on the table in front of Happy.

Happy blinked down at it. “What?”

Peter pointed at the words ‘Happy Birthday’. “Look, your name is on it.”

Happy chuckled. Peter smiled. And some of the tension in the room disappeared.

Peter felt a little better for a whole eighteen hours. Until it was time for his next session with Natasha, and she randomly offered to share a kiwi-lime cheesecake with him after they had finished the exercises.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Happy left it here. He said we could eat it.”

Rude.

Then again, it was exemplifying of how things always used to be between him and Happy. Peter being eager; Happy being dismissive and annoyed.

It still stung, though.

Natasha was giving him one of those looks again. “Happy’s a good guy, right?”

Of course Happy was a good guy. Peter liked Happy. A hell of a lot more than Happy liked Peter.

And suddenly Peter realized what the problem was.

-

Happy came over for dinner again on Wednesday, and he was all smiles and nods, asking about Peter’s homework and playfully nudging him as he teased May about her cooking skills.

_It’s all fake._

Now that realization had hit him, it was painfully obvious. Happy had the hots for aunt May, and unfortunately for him, Peter was part of the package. What else could the man do but act like he was suddenly terribly fond of Peter?

Peter almost couldn’t blame him. _Almost_.

May bought a third dining room chair. Which, you know… she might as well have announced that she and Happy were getting married. It was getting pretty clear that both she and Happy were in it for the long haul. Peter wanted to be happy for May, but he was more busy waiting for the other shoe to drop. How long was Happy going to keep up the pretense? Was this going to turn into one of those evil stepdad scenarios where Happy would be nice when May was around, but nasty as soon as her back was turned?

“Can I talk to you about something?” May asked one evening, and Peter steeled himself before nodding.

“You always leave the room when the news comes on,” May observed.

That was about the _last_ concern Peter had on his mind right now. He gave May a confused look. “Um, yeah. It’s… not a big deal? I just don’t like looking at it.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t do anything about it.”

“There’s always going to be people getting hurt. Even when you were Spider-Man, you still couldn’t prevent _all_ crime. But you didn’t mind watching the news back then.”

“Back then I still felt like maybe I could prevent it from happening _next_ time.”

“Is that not still true?”

“I don’t know,” Peter murmured, picking at the handle of his crutch. “I don’t how all this is going to end.”

“Has Dr. Cho ever given you the impression that she thinks you might not fully recover?”

“It’s not just about the recovery. It’s about the people too. Like, the team might not want me to get involved anymore, and also…” Peter sighed, before looking up to meet May’s eyes. “If I do recover… are _you_ going to let me be Spider-Man? After what happened, are you going to let me get back out there?”

“Yes.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “ _Yes?_ ”

“Tony has made me enough promises about updates to your suit to put my mind at ease. Don’t you think I would have discussed it with you if I had decided something else? I know how much this means to you.”

Peter shrugged. “I sorta thought that maybe you hoped I simply wouldn’t be able to go back out there with the leg, and then the discussion would be moot.”

“You thought that I hoped you wouldn’t fully recover?” May repeated with an eyebrow lifted.

“Um, that sounds a little bad saying it out loud, I guess,” Peter realized.

“Hm-mm,” May said, but she didn’t go into it any further. “And you think the team doesn’t want you to be Spider-Man anymore?”

“I have a suspicion.”

“Talk to them,” May said. “No offense, honey, but your suspicions are usually hopelessly incorrect.”

-

It had been five weeks since Peter had done any Spider-Manning. So it came as a bit of a surprise when his spider-sense suddenly went haywire as he was crossing the street on his way back from school. Suddenly overwhelmed by the sense, Peter froze in his tracks, his head whipping back and forth to find the source.

And that’s when the car hit him.

It didn’t even really hit him. The driver had already slammed his foot down on the brakes so it was more like a tiny bounce against his left leg. His _healing_ leg. That tiny bounce felt like a motherfucking sledgehammer, and Peter went down like a sack of potatoes.

The driver jumped out with panic in his eyes, rushing towards Peter who was sprawled on his back on the asphalt. “Ohmygosh, I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry, are you all right?” He was a young guy who probably hadn’t had his drivers license for a very long time. “Ohmygosh, do I call 911?”

“Nope,” Peter managed as he pushed himself up into a seated position. “It’s fine, you barely hit me.”

“But you were already injured,” the man said, spotting Peter’s crutch. "Can you stand up?"

"Don't think so."

“Shit. Can I call someone for you?”

“I got it,” Peter grunted, taking out his phone to dial May’s number. This wasn’t Tony Stark level injured. Even though May would probably insist that Tony still check him over anyways.

“Hello, honey,” May cheerfully said when she picked up. “How are you?” She used to always ask that question with an undertone of fear. Like every time he called her, she was afraid he might be half-dead in a ditch somewhere. Now that he hadn’t been Spider-Man in a few weeks, she was far more relaxed.

And so Peter felt a little bad for what he was about to tell her. “Umm….”

“What?” May asked, her voice immediately turning more serious. “Where are you?”

“Metropolitan and 70th. I kind of got nudged by a car, and now I can’t stand.”

May groaned. “Okay, honey, let me see how I can…” Her voice turned more muffled, suddenly. “Can you … you know where … all right …” she was talking to someone else in the room. _Probably Happy,_ Peter realized, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably.

“Happy is driving over there to pick you up honey,” May said when she returned to the phone.

“Peachy,” Peter said through clenched teeth.

Happy parked right next to him only a few minutes later. He took one look at Peter’s pale face and brusquely informed him that they would be driving straight to the Tower.

Peter pretended to be in too much pain to be able to talk much on the way there.

-

Tony held the X-ray up against the light. “So, how are you?”

Peter leaned back against cushions, avoiding looking at Tony by picking at the bedspread. “You tell me. You’re the one who did the scan.”

“Uhuh. How are you _other than_ the leg?”

Peter frowned and turned his head to study Tony’s face. Of all the people in his life to ask him _that_ question, he never thought it would be emotionally stunted Tony Stark. “Fine,” he said.

Tony raised an eyebrow, lowering the scan and putting it on the bedside table. “Really fine, or one of those fake ‘fines’ you’ve been throwing around recently?”

Peter pressed his lips together, slowly rubbing a hand up and down his painful leg as he thought about what to say.

Tony perched on the edge of his bed and motioned towards the scan. “I don’t actually know how to read these things, by the way. But FRIDAY says your leg is fine. Just painful muscles and damaged nerves acting up. I’ve asked Dr. Cho to fix you up with a proper painkiller, she’s working on it right now.”

“Don’t need it,” Peter grumbled, even though he didn’t stop massaging his own leg.

Tony didn’t bother arguing with him, he merely lifted an eyebrow, giving Peter a look that clearly said _you’re taking the painkiller whether you like it or not_.

“Before when my Spider-sense flared, I’d always instinctively know exactly what to do,” Peter said, voicing his concerns. “I always knew where the danger was coming from and who it was coming _for_. But this time it was like alarm bells were ringing everywhere, and I didn’t know what was going to hit me until… well… it hit me.”

“So, you’re out of practice,” Tony said with a shrug. “The thing with ‘out of practice’ is; you can practice, and then get back into practice.” He smirked.

Peter didn’t smile back. “But we don’t even know how my Spider-Sense works. I mean physically. Maybe it was damaged when I broke my spine or something.”

“Maybe,” Tony agreed. “Either way, I see no point in assuming that you won’t get it back to fully functioning, as long as you’re still healing.”

Peter frowned down at the bedspread. He heard Tony let out a sigh, and then a hand squeezed his shoulder. “I know ‘don’t worry’ is always easier said than done. Start by talking to people when something bothers you, okay? It helps.”

Peter glanced up at him. “Did you know about Happy and May?” He asked.

Something shifted in Tony’s expression at the unexpected question, and Peter already knew the answer. “Did _everyone_ know except for me?” He asked, hoping the little bubble of hurt he felt in his chest wasn’t seeping into his voice.

“No, no,” Tony quickly assured him. “Me and Pepper. And Natasha guessed after taking one look at him. She’s a psycho.”

“I think you mean psychic.”

“No, I definitely mean a psycho. Does it bother you that they’re dating?”

“No,” Peter insisted.

“Happy tells me you’ve been giving him the silent treatment lately.”

Peter frowned. “I haven’t.”

“So it’s fine if he’s the one driving you back home later?”

Peter pressed his lips together and Tony smirked. “Very cliché, Pete, getting upset over your aunt’s new boyfriend.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain.”

Peter didn’t.

Happy drove him back home.

Peter pretended to be too knocked out by painkillers to be able talk much.

-

“Why are you being such a dick to Happy?” MJ asked casually, flipping through her history book.

She was lying on top of his mattress, one arm slung around Happy Binky the big-ass bunny, as Peter sat at his desk. And just outside their door was Happy, doing _their_ dishes. He hadn’t even been here today for breakfast or lunch, but he was still doing the dishes like they were _his_ dishes and it bugged Peter. “I’m not being a dick.”

It was not about Peter. He had made his peace with Happy’s grumpy nature a long time ago. It was about Happy lying to aunt May, pretending to like her nephew when he actually didn’t. It was about how this relationship might keep going and going and Happy might move in and Peter would have to live with someone who secretly hated his guts…

A knock at the door. “Pete?”

“Come in,” MJ called when Peter just kept scowling down at his homework.

Happy opened the door, and Peter turned to face him with what he hoped was a neutral expression. Judging from the way Happy set his jaw when he saw Peter’s face, he failed.

“You’re vegetarian, right?” Happy asked MJ. “I’m making lasagna.”

“MJ and I are going out for dinner,” Peter cut in before MJ could reply.

Happy frowned. “I’ve already started dinner, couldn’t you have told me before?”

“I’m sorry, did you bother to _ask_ me, or did you forget we were even here before you started cooking?”

Happy’s frown turned deeper. Peter lifted his chin and held his gaze. _That’s right, asshole, I know what you’re doing_.

Happy rolled his eyes and slammed the door.

“Dick,” MJ repeated, throwing Binky at Peter’s head.

-

Hundreds of times Peter had called Happy to leave mission reports or warn about evil bad guys.

It took a big fat crush on aunt May for Happy to finally call _him_ one afternoon. “Hey, Pete, are you at home?”

“Yes,” Peter said, feeling wary and annoyed. Why couldn’t Happy just tell him what he wanted first, and _then_ Peter would decide whether or not he was at home?

“Okay, I’m dropping by. Your aunt left some stuff at my apartment last night.”

Gross.

“I was about to step out,” Peter lied. “Can’t you stuff it through the mailbox?”

“I don’t think it’ll fit. Can’t you wait? I’m only about five or ten minutes away.”

“Yeah, I’m not your errand boy.”

It stayed silent for a moment.

“Listen, Peter,” Happy then said, frustration clear in his voice. “I get that it’s not easy seeing your aunt with someone else, I really do. But whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere. So whatever it is that’s bothering you, you better learn to _talk_ to me about it, because the teen drama is getting really old!”

Teen drama? That remark made Peter see red. “I know you don’t like me, all right?” He snapped. “I know you hate my guts. You made that amply clear all the times you blew me off on the phone or gave me the side-eye in the car. So excuse me if I don’t want to go along in this little charade you got going on.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

Then, Happy hung up.

Peter looked down at the screen of his phone and scowled. Asshole. _Coward_.

Seething with anger, he marched through the hallway to the front door. He sure as hell was _not_ going to be here when Happy arrived.

Happy called him back as Peter stepped onto the sidewalk. _Too late, jerkwad._ Peter sent the call to voicemail.

Peter had already walked three streets when he realize that he hadn’t brought his crutch along. Or his keys. Or his wallet.

-

Tony was _not amused_ when Peter turned up at the tower half an hour later without his crutch.

“I’m fine,” Peter murmured. He wasn’t even lying. His leg wasn’t hurting as much as he thought it would.

Unsurprisingly, though, Tony didn’t believe him. “Sit,” he said, pointing at the couch with a stern expression. “I’ll go grab you another crutch from the medic bay.”

Happy called for about the twentieth time as Peter was waiting for Tony to come back. Peter turned his phone all the way off and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

He realized that he was only putting off some very awkward discussions. Now that he had finally said his thoughts out loud, it would change things. They would have to _talk_ about it. Unless.. would Happy ignore the whole thing and pretend to May that nothing had happened? And if he did, what should Peter do? The same thing? Or finally come clean to May?

He kind of wanted to sleep at the Tower tonight. Put the rest of his life on pause, pretend it didn’t exist, and not have to deal with any of it. But this wouldn’t be the first time that he used the tower as an escape, and Tony had gotten pretty good at forcing Peter to come clean about his true motivations.

Still: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” He asked as soon as Tony returned with a crutch. A bright red one.

“Sure,” Tony said easily, leaning the red crutch against the armrest of the couch and sitting down, too. “But you know the deal.”

Their ‘deal’ was more like an extensive verbal contract with clauses on getting May’s blessing, finishing his homework, and of course being honest about his underlying reasons.

“I haven’t asked May yet, but I think it will be fine. She has a late shift, anyways.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And all my homework is done.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Happy doesn’t like me,” Peter murmured.

“Right, kid. Mad at him because he makes you do your homework, acting like a dad?”

“You don’t get it!” Peter fiercely told him with an angry glare, because how immature did everyone think he was? “He _doesn’t like me_ , all right? Do you know how many times he used to tell me how annoying I was? How much I made his life miserable? And now that he and my aunt are boogering the bed, what, all of a sudden he can stand me?”

Tony searched Peter’s face for about ten seconds. “You’re serious,” he finally surmised.

“Duh-doy!”

Tony leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, looking at Peter with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Do you remember when you woke up in the medic bay after your little tumble, and you had that big-ass stuffed bunny sitting on your bedside table?”

Peter frowned. “Yeah…”

“Happy bought you that. And just to put that in perspective for you: after I was abducted by terrorists and held captive for three months, all he got _me_ when I came back was a _card_. Even though I am his personal hero. And when I asked him ‘if you’re getting him _that_ monstrosity _,_ why didn’t you get _me_ a stuffed animal?’ he came back with ‘if you can make an AI that runs your entire business for you, why can’t you make a damn AI that warns Peter when his webfluid is about to run out?’ and then he went into a whole rant. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the moment your aunt fell in love with him. When she heard him endlessly lecturing me on your safety.”

“Oh,” Peter said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “So, um, you don’t think he hates me?”

“You’re an idiot,” Tony said, but he said it in that fond voice that always made Peter feel a little warmer inside.

“I guess I’ve been an asshole,” Peter murmured, ducking his head.

“Yes,” Tony agreed. “Comes with being a teenager. And Happy’s been pretty oblivious. Comes with being in love.”

“What should I do?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re Peter Parker. You have a moral compass the size of antarctica. You know what to do.”

-

Happy lived in a depressing building that was all straight lines and concrete walls. Peter rang the doorbell for number 7102 and waited with his heart in his throat.

The intercom crackled. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Peter said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “It’s Peter. Can you…”

Happy buzzed him in.

Peter had to take the elevator to the ninth floor. He always used to avoid elevators. He hated small spaces. But he couldn’t exactly take the stairs, with the leg and all that…

_Ding._

The elevator doors slid open, and Peter stepped forward only to almost bump into a white-faced Happy, who was standing smack-bang in the middle of the hallway.

“Jesus… Happy!”

“I called you about a hundred times!”

“Well, here I am,” Peter said.

Happy just stared at him.

“Do you mind? I don’t like elevators.”

Happy stepped aside, making room for Peter to step into the hallway. He frowned down at the red crutch Peter was leaning on. “Where’d you get that?”

“Tower.”

“You walked all the way to the tower and then all the way here?”

“Tony drove me,” Peter said, turning to lean heavily against the wall. “Can we have this conversation sitting down?”

Happy pressed his lips together, then pointed the way.

His apartment was spacious, and felt kind of empty. It was furnished, but there was nothing there that really made it a _home_. All the furniture was big and dark and looked heavy.

“Smells nice,” Peter commented.

“I’m making lasagna.”

Of course he was.

Happy grabbed Peter’s arm to steady him as they sat down on the sofa, but once they were sitting, he didn’t immediately let go.

“Peter, I…” he started, before faltering, then swallowing, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry,” he then said.

“Yeah, me too.”

Happy nodded, moving his hand up to squeeze Peter’s shoulder before letting go. A silence fell, but Peter figured they probably needed to discuss this some more. Where to begin? “Why did you give my cheesecake away?” He kind of hated himself for sounding so small. But he had to ask.

Happy blinked, searched Peter’s face, then seemed to deflate a little. “I’m allergic,” he murmured. “Kiwi. I get, uhhh, my face gets all blotchy, tongue swells up. It’s not pretty.”

Oh. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I don’t know. Things had been tense, and I liked that you gave me a present so I felt awkward bringing it up.”

Fair enough.

“You weren’t supposed to know I gave it away, though,” Happy continued. “That wasn’t very subtle, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Peter mumbled. “Sorry for making things tense in the first place. That’s on me, I guess. I just had this idea that you, um, were only pretending to like me.”

Happy sighed, looking a little frustrated. “I didn’t realize you… I’m really sorry about all those times I blew you off on the phone. Especially since I think a lot of crap could have been prevented if I had taken you more seriously. I had my head pretty far up my ass back then.”

“Well, I did leave you about three rambling voicemails every day,” Peter reasoned. “So I can’t blame you too much for, uh, getting a little exasperated.”

“Exasperated, yes,” Happy agreed. “But you said I hated your guts and that… that was _never_ the case, Peter.”

“I know,” Peter admitted. “That‘s just because I make everything bigger in my head.”

“I really care about you.”

Peter felt himself go red, now. “Yeah, okay,” he said awkwardly.

“Do you believe me?”

Peter nodded. “Tony told me you bought me that big-ass bunny.”

That elicited a small chuckle from Happy. “Yeah. Didn’t you know? I mean, my name is on it.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Peter realized. “But, uh, no offense, your name is kinda ambiguous.”

Happy grinned. Peter grinned back. And it suddenly became a little easier to breathe, as if someone had opened a window.

“Do you want a drink?” Happy asked.

“Um – Tony is still downstairs waiting. I was going to sleep at the tower tonight.”

“I guess it would be polite to invite him in for a cup of coffee,” Happy said, although his expression showed that he wasn’t thrilled about his own suggestion. “Can you send him a message? Bet you ten bucks he’ll take one look at the place and make some comment about how much he pays me.”

“Tony has never been in your house?” Peter asked as he took out his phone.

“God, no. But not many people have.”

Peter’s phone buzzed a few seconds after he had sent his message, and he looked down at the screen. “Tony asks if you have Ethiopian Coffee beans.”

Happy shook his head. “Tell him to just get his spoiled ass up here.”

Peter told Tony _exactly_ that, before putting the phone away. “Can I ask you something?” he asked. “Since you’ve been putting up with me for so long?”

Happy rolled his eyes at Peter’s choice of words. “Sure, kid.”

“Do you think I’m, like, too immature to be a superhero?”

“Not too immature,” Happy said. “Too young: maybe? But you’re more mature than _certain_ other Avengers. And you’re more mature now than when you first started out, too.”

“I had more confidence back then, though. Now, I keep second guessing myself. Wondering if I’m doing the right thing, if I’m ready for all this, if I’m good enough.”

“The very fact that you’re asking yourself those questions means that you’re growing up,” Happy reasoned. “It also means that maybe almost falling to your death changed your perception on life a little.”

The bell rang and Happy buzzed Tony in, leaving his front door ajar as he moved to the kitchen to make coffee.

“Jeez Hap,” Tony said when he stepped into the apartment. “What is this, a war bunker? Buy yourself a nice colorful rug or something. It'll tie the room together. Do I need to give you a raise?”

“It’s minimalistic industrial style,” Happy informed him.

“It’s depressing. No wonder you’re always grumpy.”

Tony didn’t ask if they were ‘all good now’ or if they had ‘talked things out’. He simply drank his coffee and talked about the new updates to the Spider-Man suit. A welcome topic, since it effectively erased any of Peter’s doubts that Tony might be taking his suit away.

Maybe Tony was more tactful than Peter always gave him credit for.

“Still want to sleep at the tower?” Tony asked once they had finished their coffee.

Peter nodded. It would be nice to stay at the tower again, not for physical therapy or surgery but just to hang out. That had been a while.

Happy saw them out. Taking his chances, Peter stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Happy’s broad chest for a quick hug. He felt Happy roughly patting his back and then, to his surprise, dropping a kiss into his hair.

He stepped back, avoiding looking at Happy and turning towards the elevators. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Happy said, his voice a little thick.

Tony had a really stupid grin on his face.

-

Peter trusted Dr. Cho. That didn’t mean he was completely free from nerves as he lay in a room in the medic bay, waiting to be wheeled into surgery. He had already counted the ceiling tiles four times. Twenty-five by thirty-two. He was in the middle of counting the floor tiles when the door opened and Natasha appeared. For a second, Peter was afraid that she was going to make him do push-ups right before his surgery. But then she held up a deck of cards. “Need a distraction?”

That was… nice. “I don’t really know how to play poker.”

She looked amused. “What game _do_ you know?”

“Um. Slap Jack. Or Crazy Eights.”

“Crazy Eights it is,” Natasha said, stepping forward. “I’m not doing any ‘slapping’ with a kid in a hospital bed.” She pulled up a chair and began to shuffle the deck. And _of course_ she was doing it like some sort of Harry Houdini, letting the cards cascade through her fingers with a few simple movements. He should ask her to teach him.

There was a lot he still wanted to learn. Needed to learn.

“When all this is over… Am I off the team?” Peter asked.

Natasha gave him a calculating look as she dealt the cards. “Why do you ask?”

“You think I’m too young to be an Avenger.”

“Correct.”

“And I’m guessing other people do, too. So I figured maybe I’m off the team, if my leg ever heals.”

“First off, it’s not an ‘if’, it’s a ‘when’,” Natasha said as she sorted her hand. “Second off, you were never _on_ the team. You were just Tony’s tag-along.”

Harsh.

“You’re never going to be an official part of our strategy. At least, not until you are of age. But if you decide to just show up and help us when we’re in the middle of a mission, I can hardly stop you.” Natasha turned over the top card of the deck. “You go first.”

“But you’d prefer if I weren’t there?” Peter clarified, before discarding the two of hearts. “Draw two.”

“I see your value as an enhanced,” Natasha said calmly as she drew cards. “But my job as an Avenger is to protect. And protecting children is priority one. Having a child as a team member is therefore distracting, because part of my energy goes into looking out for your safety.”

“Right,” Peter said, not sure how to handle the fact that Natasha Romanoff had just pretty much said that she worried about him. “I can look after myself, though.”

“I know you can, but I’m wired this way. The whole team is.”

“Why is that bad, though? Isn’t that what a team is all about? Looking out for each other?”

“It’s different when you’re a child.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because you’re not supposed to die,” Natasha said, her voice more intense now. “I can’t let you. And that screws with my programming. Because if we’re on a mission and Clint or Steve or Tony gets into a tight spot, and I have to chose between saving them or saving a whole group of civilians, I _will_ leave them for dead.”

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed.

“Hey, thanks for cheering the kid up so much, Romanoff,” a voice suddenly cut in.

Tony was leaning against the doorpost, dressed in black pants and a stained, white shirt that his arc reactor shone right through. He looked like he had come straight from the workshop.

Natasha clearly had the same thought. “You didn’t have to come running, Stark, I’m not doing anything mean to your little Spider.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “We’re just playing cards.”

Tony didn’t look convinced, stepping into the room and looking at the pile of cards on top of the blankets. “I told her not to fill your little head with horror-stories.”

“He asked a question, I answered it,” Natasha said calmly. “Frankly, I think that means I treat him more like an adult than _you_ do with you overprotective tendencies.”

“Please don’t fight…” Peter murmured awkwardly.

“No need. Tony knows how I feel,” Natasha said. “We’ve discussed the topic pretty extensively.”

“Why didn’t anyone discuss it with _me_?” Peter asked, frowning a little.

Tony perched on the edge of his bed. “Because nothing changes for you. You’re still going to be friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who stays close to the ground. The rest of us will have to try harder to keep our fights out of your neighborhood so you don’t get dragged into them.”

“And what if it does come to my neighborhood? Are you going to stop me from helping?”

“No,” Tony said. “But maybe we’ll have to devise some ground rules. You can be… _in charge_ of civilian security or collateral damage. Keeping people safe, but not directly engaging with whatever enemy we’re facing.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t really thought about it, but I’m sure I could do that.”

“Well, that’s essentially your life motto, isn’t it?” Natasha asked dryly.

Peter ducked his head with a sheepish grin.

-

He woke up, feeling like he had been run over by a train. The light was hurting his eyes and it took him a few solid minutes to blink through the haze and make out his surroundings.

Happy was by his bedside, reading. Peter moved, carefully slipping a hand behind his back to feel the bandages, and Happy looked up.

“Hey,” he said, putting the book away. “May just went out to get some food. She’ll be back soon.”

Peter nodded. Strangely enough, he was feeling more sore now than he had when he woke up the day after the accident. Or maybe they’d just pumped more painkillers into him back then. Either way, his back was killing him, the pain so fierce that it made him light-headed and a little nauseous.

“Brought you a little something from home,” Happy said with a smile, picking Happy Binky up from the floor and holding him out.

Peter did his best to smile back, reaching out a hand to take the big-ass bunny and clenching it close to his chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm, I’m fine.”

“ _Are_ you?”

Peter struggled for words for a moment. “Really hurts…” he finally admitted, blinking away the tears that threatened to well up.

“FRIDAY, alert Dr. Cho,” Happy immediately said.

Dr. Cho arrived in under a minute, and Peter didn’t even try to pretend to feel fine. He had broken his spine and crushed his leg. He was allowed to be in pain.

Dr. Cho took a quick look through his file. “I’m going to give you a stronger painkiller, but that will leave you quite drowsy, all right?”

“That’s fine,” Peter murmured. _Just do it._ He pressed his face into the soft fur of Happy Binky, because screw looking mature. He felt Happy rubbing circles on his back in soothing motions and that was sort of nice.

Five minutes later, Peter felt better than he ever had before. Not only was he pain free, but he really felt obliged to point out that Happy had honestly _never_ been this hilarious. He had a funny tie, and funny hair, and a funny tie, and a really weird apartment.

“It’s minimalistic industrial style,” Happy explained again, as he self-consciously tugged at his tie.

Peter giggled.

And then May arrived and she was _very_ funny, too.

“Is he all right?” May asked.

“A little high on painkillers,” Happy said.

Peter cackled.

-

“Spider-Man, is it really you? Woah, hey man! It’s been months… Are you okay?”

This lady with the short purple hair and the two wide-eyed toddlers in tow wasn’t the first person to enthusiastically greet him this afternoon, and it felt amazing to be welcomed back with open arms by the whole neighborhood.

“All good,” Peter said, taking a little bow. “And _with_ a built-in parachute in my suit.”

“That's good,” she said with a smile. “But still be careful anyways, okay, hon?”

“I will,” Peter said, touched by her concern.

“Can you do a backflip?” her son asked, in complete awe.

Peter did, and the kids cheered.

Spider-Man was back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. ❤︎


End file.
